


The Golden Calf

by romankate



Category: Famous Five - Enid Blyton, Travis McGee Series - John D. MacDonald
Genre: Bondage, Electricity, M/M, Sex Toys, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 01:04:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romankate/pseuds/romankate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Travis McGee has noticed a new boy hanging around his marina causing trouble. But when Julian sets his sights on an adventure aboard the Busted Flush, Travis teaches him all about the trouble adult kinds of adventures can bring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Golden Calf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tinx_r](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinx_r/gifts).



I’d seen the kid around the marina a couple of other times before that hot and cloudless day in June: running errands for the couple who owned the _Greener Acres_ , sunbathing on the deck of the _Hide n’ Peek_ , and once, so early in a morning it still counted as the night before, sneaking off the _Janus Stone_ , with a secret smile and carrying his shoes.

He had the kind of youth that knows its own worth, a face that made men stop and re-evaluate several of their core principles, and a body that promised sleepless nights of one kind or another. I know what you’re thinking, but I’m no prude; truth be told, South Florida was being inundated by boys of that age, cocksure and ready to be tested -- for a price. I wasn’t all that surprised when he turned up at the marina that second or third time. After all, one of the true benefits of a comfortable middle age is the ability to look on youth with a scornful eye and a fat wallet.

But that morning, I was in a mood. The kind of mood you sometimes get when the sun is too high in the sky and the radio wants nothing more than to tell you all about how some developer or another’s bought themselves a fat slice of Florida Everglades and is promising jobs and housing on the spot where for centuries alligators and their older kin have swam, feasted and dreamed, the kind of long, cold dreams involving lots of teeth and squeaking sounds that stop with a startling abruptness.

So it was with this mood hanging like a dark cloud over my head that I left the _Busted Flush_ and strode meanly up the slip towards what many a misguided man has termed “civilization”.

A little fool with a little hose was the last thing I was expecting.

Shirtless and wet from shoulders to thighs I refused to splutter, turning on my assailant instead with a kind of stony reckoning, waiting for him to make some apology, perhaps, or at least an explanation.

And a good long time I’d be waiting.

He wore jeans that had been cut-off somewhere around the je-- and nothing else. The skin of his shoulders and back were sunburnt and peeling, and I harbored a suspicion that Florida was not his native clime. Then he opened his mouth and my suspicion became a certainty.

“I say,” he called, eyes glinting wickedly, “I’ve gotten you wet. Sincere apologies, fine sir, but my hose appears to have a mind of its own.”

English. And bold, too. The only people called me “sir” were waiters or valets, people out to give you a service with a fat tip in mind. That, coupled with my previous recollections, intrigued me enough to stand, dripping on the slip, letting the boy have his eyeful.

“It’s just,” he continued. “That I seem to let it get away from me quite often. Won’t happen again, of course.” He lowered his head as he said this, and I’d be a liar if I didn’t say that it was this one small move, the way the sun glinted off his lashes, the sweet curve of his peach-fuzzed jaw tucked demurely down near the lean muscles of his chest that decided me, right then and there. I had no current case and no pressing business elsewhere and I knew right then that he needed me easily as much as I wanted him. Possibly more.

“The hell it will,” I growled. “You can’t just soak a man and expect no repercussions. Every action,” I told him, “has a reaction.”

“I’m so dreadfully sorry,” he replied, “Is there any way I can--”

“Six o’clock. The _Busted Flush_. Don’t be late.” Then I turned on my heel and strode up the pier, knowing with the same certainty with which I know my own name, that the boy watched me -- or at least a certain part of me -- with every step.

***

Six o’clock came and went, the sun agreeing to consort with the tops of the buildings scarring the city’s skyline. My guest deigned to put in an appearance at twenty past the hour, and I filed the time away while I made every appearance of setting him at his ease.

“You’re late,” I pointed out.

“My apologies,” the boy began, his accent high and light. “I was unfortunately detained by--”

“Save it,” I growled. I could tell already this was a partnership where growling would come in useful. “Get naked.”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked. A flush had risen to his cheeks.

“You heard me,” I said. “Your debt won’t get any smaller with your clothes on.” My cock stirred at the sight of him, standing so seemingly arrogant and a little scared in the salon. “The less patience I have, the longer you stay. I’m sure you have...clients who might miss your whereabouts in a few days. And I wouldn’t want to make you late for any appointments.”

And as I stood there frowning at him, I swear there was a hint of satisfaction, if not true excitement in his eyes.

My words had truly struck a nerve and yet, as I watched, he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor (I made a note to chasten him for it later) then his fingers found the button of his denim shorts, and in a matter of seconds I was standing in the salon staring at a lush and lovely boy with a too-old-for-him-by-far pout and a body that begged to be used.

And I wasn’t a man to disappoint.

The plain truth of the matter is that I have been around this world long enough to understand the way certain key functions work. There are a class of young lads and ladies who, blessed or cursed with the gift of precious and beautiful youth, set about trying to use their good looks, along with their tight, firm bodies, to wreak havoc among the set of older and more settled persons of which I counted myself a member.

There are also a much smaller class of persons who know this truth for a certainty, and understand that their own role in this delicate ecosystem is that of the disciplinarian, the guide who will bring errant boys and girls back from the outer boundaries of their behavior, sometimes with a firm hand, but more often than not, with a firmer body, applied everywhere it would do them the most good.

I was definitely looking forward to this disciplining.

***

His name was Julian, he told me, once I had him over my knee. His pert little ass was turned to the heavens and I couldn’t fail to notice the lack of tan-lines. This was a boy well invested in the currency he traded in. Well, I was there to make his trade just a little more difficult.

I started with light taps on his skin, but grew bored with them almost immediately, and switched to firmer swats, alternating cheeks. Julian lay still across my lap, not stirring until I, motivated by a natural curiosity, probed an eager finger between his cheeks. The rose-bud of his asshole was still tight and clenched, but I’d never let that stop me before. With only natural friction to guide the way I pushed my finger inside, then let a fellow keep it company. Julian wriggled, his thighs parting, balls lying soft and wrinkled on my thigh.

I resumed the punishment of his brightening cheeks, lifting my hand higher and letting it fall harder on his tight little ass while I moved my fingers inside him. By about the tenth stroke he was writhing, his stubborn cock poking at the inside of my knee.

He never made a sound.

I took this as a challenge and doubled the force with which I struck him, coupling it with brutal movements of my other hand, opening him, getting him ready.

His ass-cheeks reddened like roses, but he simply buried his face against my legs and breathed deeply.

Which is why, I suppose, I decided on the rest of it.

***

It’s a little known fact but the master stateroom of the _Busted Flush_ boasts a four-poster bed. Ridiculous to have aboard a boat but damn convenient in Julian’s case.

I carried him downstairs over one shoulder and threw him on the bed without preamble. Either he had done this before or he knew when he was bested, as he rolled up on one hip and stared at me with big blue eyes and a determined mouth. Oh the thoughts I had about that mouth. The more he pouted the more I was bent on using it, training the lad in the ways of taking a good cock-thrashing, making him an obedient little whore.

But outwardly, I’m convinced, I showed no sign. Instead I pushed him onto his stomach and tied his wrists to the top posts with two pairs of black tights I’d purchased earlier that day for the very reason. Then I tied his ankle to the bottom posts, this time with queen-sized taupe. They’d run out of the other and I’d been in no mood to be choosy.

Julian made soft lowing noises throughout, especially as I handled his delicate ankles, my thumb skating casually across the surface of the big bone as I tied him down. I made a note of what made him loudest and filed it away for later. Then, just before I left, I took a hairbrush left by a female acquaintance of mine and gave Julian’s ass a few more rough strokes. I put my back into it, making sure the brush landed wherever wasn’t reddest.

He never made a sound.

He sure did writhe prettily, though.

And so I left him at it, fucking a phantom on the bedspread, the hairbrush lodged firmly up his tight little asshole.

I went upstairs and cooked myself a steak out on the grill, under the stars. It charred prettily but stayed raw on the inside and, with a baked potato serving as accompaniment, gave up its pretty pink inside flesh.

I enjoyed every bite.

***

Some time later I rejoined Julian in my stateroom.

He’d managed to use his sweet ass to work the hairbrush out nearly to the tip, so that when I pushed it back in to the hilt Julian sighed deeply and pushed his hips back against it, ass-ring clenching.

I removed the brush and set it on the floor, in case I’d need it later. Then I set about the serious business of the evening.

First of all, I fucked Julian, hard and fast and rough, kneeling behind him while he made soft, warm sobbing sounds. I buried my cock in him then reared back and, gripping him hard enough to leave marks, I fucked him like it was an Olympic event.

He bucked and reared as I took him, all the lithe tanned muscles on his frame standing out with the effort of giving me what I demanded. He was still tight, the ring of his muscle not yet sullied by overuse and I could tell by the pattern of his breathing how much he liked it. He made these little noises, soft and eager, like he’d known this would happen all along.

After, I lay with him and coaxed him to orgasm, my hand finding that he’d managed, against all odds, not to come so far from the evening’s amusements.

I didn’t untie him, though. Leave it for more scholarly minds than my own to reason, but somehow, that hard and stubborn little cock in my hand, Julian thrusting needily into my fist, spurred me on. After all, a boy who had kept it together through all the night’s entertainments so far was indeed a hard nut to fuck.

I had seen Julian’s ilk before, had lain with them and felt them sob and writhe and buck. They were all of a type, these too-golden youths, something different from the female of the species.

See, young women in possession of a wanton beauty, the type that makes men forget their wives and their mistresses, leaping aboard a boat or into a hot-sheet motel room, those young ladies, I’m convinced, know the value of their currency. There’s a part of them watching the clock, understanding that all too soon the bloom will be off the rose and that they are not the women who will become well-loved wives and mothers. They’re a momentary distraction, nothing more.

But boys of a similar age and talent? They were feral, that’s all. Where the women had some measure of understanding of their place, boys had none. They carved that place with feet and fists and secrecy, and that last, that necessity of operating under the conventional law, the knowledge of how dangerous was the beauty in their possession, that’s what made weapons of them. Weapons aimed squarely at men just such as myself.

What Julian didn’t know, what he couldn’t have known, was that I specialized in boys like him.

In fact I had a box full of toys, one I kept hidden in the depths of my closet, for handling Julian and his brethren. And as I retrieved that box and unpacked it, laying out its jewels on the bed where he could see them, Julian understood that I was no ordinary man. His eyes grew wide as he looked from one toy to the next, taking in their import, their purpose. He let his head fall onto the sheet and breathed in deep, eyes closed. If I’d been a different kind of man I’d’ve offered him a strip of leather to bite down on.

But I’m just me, and so I set to work, putting Julian through his paces, confident that the spaces between my boat and the next would be enough to muffle Julian’s cries.

He took it well, I’ll grant you.

I used him six ways til Sunday -- a special kind of pessary that inflates at the whim of the penetrator, expanding to fill and overfill a tight, sweet, rent boy’s ass; the hard, knobbled object I picked up on a tour of Siam, that bucked and bit enough for three of me; and finally, the slim magic wand wired to a magic box of knobs and dials, that I used to make Julian wriggle and squirm, just as the sun was creeping over the horizon.

Julian put a brave face on it, but just as I turned the knob toward its maximum voltage, the slim wand humming in his brave cock while my fingers probed his secret, needing places, he caved.

He came so hard the tights ripped in one corner and an ankle came free, whipping wildly about as I doggedly kept after him, pushing and probing, laying him bare, making him give and give and give even as I watched pleasure -- true pleasure -- consume him.

Then I put away the toys in their box, untied him, and slept, untroubled and peaceful, with him in my arms.

Sometime in the dawn, I awoke, all of me, and I pushed myself inside him with only a token resistance. He murmured sweetly and I made myself go slow, no longer content to use him, but to use his body to show him just how satisfying lovemaking could be. I licked and kissed the sweet young jaw of him, peach-fuzz bristling my skin.

That time, he sighed as he came, a sweet and special noise I suspected I might be alone on the planet in ever hearing. He turned in my arms, after, and clung to me like a monkey in the wild jungle might cling to a sturdy palm tree, and with some regret, I knew our adventure was approaching its conclusion.

***

The girl arrived later that morning.

With a sensible haircut and shoes that shamed it for a hussy, she clambered aboard the _Busted Flush_ and rapped a meaty fist on my sliding doors, bold as brass.

I was frying up eggs and bacon in the galley at the time, being a firm believer in feeding a growing boy, even if mine had yet to awaken from the deep, untroubled slumber he’d found as the morning rose around us. I’d wondered, watching him, if he’d ever known a sleep so deep.

I wanted to believe he had, just to assuage some of the guilt I felt at using him so roughly. That guilt vanished, however, the minute I laid eyes on the woman I knew from the start was in some way connected to my sweet and troubled boy.

“I’m looking for my cousin,” she began. “He’s about so tall--” She put her hand up, palm down, about six inches above her head. “And thin and brown. With blue eyes and a tendency toward over-excitement.”

We eyed each other up, she and I, and in that moment, I knew she knew Julian was aboard my boat, and she knew I knew. The eyeing continued for a long, tense moment.

“He has a tendency,” she began again.

“I’ll say,” I answered.

“Look mister,” she said, sharp voice bouncing off all the angles of my boat. “I’m worried about my cousin, Julian. It’s not like him to stay out all night.”

“It isn’t?” I watched the eggs as they spat and spattered in the pan. The yolk glimmered wetly until the moment I folded the white over its seeing eye. “I wouldn’t worry about a boy like that.”

“Wouldn’t worry?” She stepped in through the open doors and I was able to get a better look at her. All of her, a healthy husky girl with dark hair that curled around her skull. I tended my eggs as if she might steal them.

“Of course I worry about Julian. He has a tendency to...”

“To what? To make his own decisions? Live his own life? Go after what he wants?” The white of the egg turned brown in the pan with the bacon keeping it company.

“Get in over his head,” she replied. “Find adventures too much for him to handle.”

“How would you know the first thing about how much Julian can handle?” I slid the gelid egg onto a waiting plate and sent half the bacon scuttling after it. Two slices of toast popped out of the toaster and I slipped one under the egg then set the plate on the table. “He needs adventure. Craves it if I’m not mistaken. That’s not against the law, not last time I checked.” I pulled a second plate down from the cupboard.

“Julian’s adventures...” the girl began. “Sometimes leave marks.” She made no move toward the table.

I thought back to the previous evening, and all the ways I could’ve marked Julian’s slim and perfect brown body. All the tools in my toybox, and the eager way he gave himself to each of them in turn, biting his lip and refusing to lower his eyes as I pushed them at him. My cock stirred in remembered bliss. Ours would be a treasured interlude, and one I hoped he would remember with as much fondness as I would.

None of which, however, solved the problem of his cousin in my kitchen.

In the end it was solved by Julian himself, mounting the stairs up from the master stateroom a little gingerly, looking shy but somehow stronger, and more sure of himself. I nodded a greeting at him, one man to another.

The was a snort behind me, and I turned just in time to see the girl fold her arms over her chest, eyeing Julian sardonically.

He was a lot to eye. And if his cousin failed to notice the change in his demeanor, she surely wouldn’t miss that he was wearing one of my old t-shirts over his shorts.

“All right Julian,” the girl said, “It’s time to come home. You’ve given us all a frightful scare.”

Julian looked from me to her, then back to me again. I grinned, then set a mug of coffee next to his plate at the table. “You know, I’ve been meaning to take a cruise down near the Keys, and this weekend seems like a fine time for that kind of thing. After all, what’s a boat for if not for taking out on the open water.” I filled another mug with coffee and sat down, my eyes on Julian the whole time. “You’re welcome to join me.” I took a long slurp of coffee and chose my words carefully. “You, on the other hand, miss, are not.”

An outraged snort behind me. “Julian, we should leave this place at once before--”

“I agree with at least half of that,” I interrupted. “We’ll like to set off before the morning gets too much longer in the tooth.”

The girl continued protesting and calling Julian’s name like he was a misbehaving dog. I hated to see that kind of thing and mentally I gave the girl until the bottom of my coffee cup before I decided to take matters into my own hands. My boat was starting to feel entirely too crowded.

Julian looked over at his cousin then seemed to come to some decision. He marched over to the table and dropped into a chair, then began eating as if he’d never seen food before.

“Easy, babe,” I told him. “There’s more where that came from.”

“Julian!” The girl began again. I finished my coffee.

I rose and set my mug on the counter, then advanced upon the girl. I like to consider myself a gentleman, but gentle only goes so far. Besides, I was fairly sure her kind of girl needed a less subtle hint than most. “Miss, I personally guarantee that the marks this adventure will leave on your cousin aren’t the kind you’ll ever see.”

“But!”

Sometimes, I despair of the fairer sex.

Ten minutes later, breakfast was a distant memory, and so was the girl. I left her fuming and calling for Julian on the dock, while he and I untied the _Busted Flush_ and headed off on a leisurely weekend of adventures. I’d meant what I’d said about needing to take the _Flush_ out for the weekend, and one of the many things Florida has a lot of is waterways. After the weekend was over, I’d leave Julian right where I’d left his cousin, stronger and wiser for the tour.

But for now, the mangroves and the marlins called, and I had their answer. Julian busied himself with his second breakfast of the day, this time on his knees in the wheelhouse, making it awfully tricky to pilot the boat safely. Well, I reflected, we could always pull in a little further down the coast and save the cruising for the evening. If nothing else, with an appetite like Julian’s, I was going to need a helluva lot more eggs.

**Author's Note:**

> Julian does so love a good adventure, and he always did seem to manage to get himself tied up on a good half of those. It was bound to turn out this way sooner or later :D


End file.
